


New Year's Eve, 1974

by soongtypeprincess



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 1970s, First Kiss, Fluff, Holidays, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Rotating Beds, Yes i said rotating beds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:06:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21962566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soongtypeprincess/pseuds/soongtypeprincess
Summary: An angel and a demon are drinking in a flat in Mayfair. The crowd in the street is waiting for the big countdown, and Crowley's latest project takes a turn.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 98





	New Year's Eve, 1974

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own these characters.

The crowd in the street below Crowley’s flat were laughing and celebrating an end to another year.

He paid them no mind as he stared at the television set, his shiny black platforms resting on his black and gold coffee table as he reclined into his black leather sofa.

His sunglasses were upside down on top of his head and fell further back as he tilted his glass, the last of the Scotch he had saved for New Year’s Eve burning his tongue.

He glanced at the angel who was at the chair that he had hung his coat over. The seat held a large canvas bag, and he was rummaging through it for the bottle of spirits he had also saved.

The television caught Crowley’s attention again.

_“Here on top of Edinburgh Castle, in conditions of extreme secrecy, men are being trained for the British Army's first Kamikaze Regiment, the Queen's Own McKamikaze Highlanders.”_

He turned off the television as Aziraphale sat beside him.

“Can’t believe the only good series on the bloody BBC,” he muttered, “is going off the air.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Not officially, dear,” he said. “You’ve got repeats, like tonight.”

“No more new ones, though.”

“Well, that’s the BBC for you, I guess.” He poured a generous shot in his empty glass. “There you are.”

“Mmm,” Crowley hummed with approval, sitting up straighter to accept it. He secretly watched the angel over the rim of his glass. 

He adored the way Aziraphale savored his drinks, his food...well everything, for that matter. 

Aziraphale pursed his lips, the tip of his tongue caressing the inside of his cheek as he swirled the whiskey in his mouth. Crowley watched the grin spread across his pink lips as he let the whiskey trickle down his throat.

Crowley took another hearty sip to ease the pounding in his chest.

He wiped the moisture from the edge of his mustache. “What’s that?” he asked, gesturing to the items next to Aziraphale.

“Hmm? Oh!”

Aziraphale set down his glass and picked up the first item. 

“I know you’re not much of a reader,” he said, “but one of my student customers recommended it. Now, I’m not usually interested in new horror, but this wasn’t that bad.”

Crowley took the book and looked at the morbid paper sleeve. It was of a young girl with her dark hair blowing about her face.

“ _Carrie,_ ” he read the title. “Is it spooky?”

“I thought it was quite terrifying in some parts,” Aziraphale said. “I enjoyed it mostly because of the whole revenge telekinesis, although I don’t think this young man’s work will go far, to be honest. He tends to ramble, but I thought you would like it.”

Crowley gave him a half-grin and nudged him with his shoulder.

“Should I say ‘thank you,’ then?” 

Aziraphale looked away, the shade of pink on his cheeks getting deeper. “Best not,” he said. “You may not like it, after all.”

He stared at the demon as he took another sip of his whiskey. 

His golden eyes had an extra shine tonight, like they always did when they would drink, with the way the color swirling around his slit pupils. And the way he smiled. A genuine smile that revealed the natural dimples that hid in his perfect cheeks. 

Aziraphale never pointed them out, as he feared that he would never see those charming dimples again, as if he had the audacity to claim them as his own. 

And why shouldn’t he? He was the only one who had ever been privy to them.

“What’s the other thing?” Crowley mumbled.

“Hmm?” Aziraphale still stared at him.

Crowley giggled. “The other box over there, _mon ange._ ”

He felt heat rush to his cheeks again and quickly turned away.

Crowley’s smile grew.

Aziraphale cleared his throat and picked up the golden box.

“Since you gave me two this year,” he said, “I saved one of the Terry’s All Gold for tonight.”

Crowley wasn’t much on sweets but he did like to indulge the angel whenever he had the gall to share.

“It’s open, though,” he pointed out.

“I took the liberty of removing all of the Turkish Delight ones,” Aziraphale explained.

“Ugh, _that_ I will thank you for. Bloody horrible things. Whoever thought of it?”

“You did, dear.”

He opened the box and held it in front of Crowley.

“First pick, eh?” he asked, still grinning. 

Aziraphale watched his slender fingers hover over the selection before slowing clutching a vanilla creme. 

Aziraphale chose a rum truffle and set the box on his lap. 

They savored their treats until the box was near empty and another round of Scotch was served. 

“Oh!” Crowley suddenly exclaimed. “I have something to show you. A new project.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes but also couldn’t stop his amused smile. 

He would never admit that he delighted in Crowley’s “projects,” even if most of them ended up slightly inconveniencing him. 

“It’s not this ‘M25’ thing, is it?” he asked. “Because you’ve shown me those plans and --”

“I know what I’m doing, angel!” Crowley replied, setting down his glass. “Trust me; the M25 will be my Magnum Opus.” 

“Yes, but, you _do_ remember that _you_ drive, as well?”

“Won’t affect me in the slightest. And no, this one is different!” 

He took Aziraphale’s glass and set it down as he clasped his wrist. 

“Come along,” he said, pulling him off the sofa.

Aziraphale frowned. “Where are we going?”

“The bedroom. That’s where it is.”

“I’m not falling for that again!”

“What? What did you fall for?”

“Boxing Day, 1970. You said you wanted to show me your floppy... _you know_!”

Crowley threw back his head and laughed. 

“For the final time, angel, I said floppy _disk_! You were the one with their head in the gutter!”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes as he held his frown.

Crowley stepped closer, still clutching his wrist.

He took the sunglasses from off his head and, keeping them upside down, carefully placed them over Aziraphale’s bright eyes. 

They stood in silence until Azirpahale’s frown softened and a giggle betrayed him.

He removed the glasses and set them on his head.

“Fine, show me.”

The angel’s heart beat harder as the demon’s dimples made themselves known again.

They stopped at the closed bedroom door and Crowley turned around.

“Right...close your eyes.”

Aziraphale sighed. “What?”

“Come on!"

He did so and Crowley held up two fingers.

“How many fingers do you see?”

Aziraphale huffed. “I don’t know. My eyes are closed.”

“Just don’t want you to peek!”

“Crowley, I’m not peeking!” he laughed.

He heard the door open and allowed his host to escort him forward.

Crowley stopped him in the middle of the room. 

“Wait here,” he said, and left his side.

Aziraphale heard the rustling of bed sheets and his throat suddenly went dry.

“Crowley, what _are_ you doing?”

“Hold on, angel. Almost ready.”

After another moment of what sounded like the smoothing down of fabric and boots hitting the floor, Crowley finally announced:

“Okay, angel. Get ready to be wowed!”

“Does that mean I can--”

“Yes, open them!”

The angel opened his eyes and frowned again.

Crowley was laying on his side in the middle of his round bed, his head resting in the palm of his hand and his other hand on his hip. His shirt was halfway unbuttoned, stopping just above his stomach and he was wearing a cheeky grin.

The bedsheets were the same merlot colored silk that Aziraphale gave him one Christmas and the pillows were the same large black cushions. The dark mahogany bed frame was also the same.

Aziraphale smirked. “It’s your bed.”

“That it is.” Crowley patted the spot on the mattress in front of him. “Hop on.”

If he had been holding his drink, Aziraphale would have dropped it.

“I...beg your pardon?”

Crowley groaned. “Come on, angel. Just lie right here. It won’t be the same if you’re over there.”

The heat rushed back into Aziraphale’s cheeks but he cleared his throat again and slowly approached the side of the bed and sat.

“No, no, no! Closer!” Crowley demanded. 

Aziraphale’s frown returned.

Crowley sighed. “Angel...I’m not...really, you can trust me. Just take off your shoes and lie next to me.”

“Give me one reason why I should.”

“Please?”

It was the soft _please_ that coaxed him to move closer.

He sighed as he took off his shoes and laid on his back as he folded his hands on his chest.

“Are you ready?” Crowley purred, looking at him with a sly grin.

Aziraphale licked his lips.

“Dear, I don’t know what you’re--”

He stopped when Crowley revealed a small white remote control. 

A button was pressed and the bed started to move.

Aziraphale sat up immediately as the bed rotated on its frame, and the mattress slightly vibrated from the work of the loud motor underneath. 

“Crowley, what...what have you done?”

“Isn’t it great?” he asked, his dimples more prominent as he beamed. “It’s a rotating bed!”

“I see that, but why would anyone _want_ this?”

Crowley raised up and sat beside him. “Angel, humans buy into stupid shit all the time.”

“Oh, yes. Just like when you invented the concept of streaking.”

“That wasn’t me! That was Hastur! He lost a bet.”

“I wish to get off now.”

Crowley leaned closer.

“Angel, you rogue,” he growled.

“Crowley! You know damn well what I meant! Please turn off the bed.”

“You’re no fun.” 

“This is the worst idea you’ve ever had! A rotating bed? It has no function other than to make you dizzy.”

“The Scotch has already done that, angel.”

“Crowley.”

He sighed and pressed a random button, but instead of stopping, the mattress started to jolt left and right. 

“Crowley! This isn’t funny!”

“Do you hear me laughing, angel! I didn’t for this to--!” He pushed another button, but to no avail. “Shit! The motor’s gone again.”

“Again? What do you mean _again?_ ”

“It did this earlier. Still has a few bugs, is all.” 

He continued tapping on the remote control until Aziraphale got onto his knees to move closer.

“Let me try,” he said.

Crowley laughed. “You? Try? You and technology have never agreed with one another. You’ll end up breaking it!”

“Good! I’ll be doing the greatest deed for humanity!”

“Why the hell are you such a square?”

Aziraphale reached for the remote but the jolting made him fall forward, making the upside down sunglasses fall to the floor and making him fall across Crowley.

He kept his position, however, as he was determined to put an end to this ridiculous demonstration. 

After many pressing of buttons, Aziraphale chucked the remote away and snapped his fingers.

The bed instantly stopped and Aziraphale raised himself up to find that Crowley was gently holding his elbow.

Crowley realized this, too, and immediately sat up to face him. 

“I have a few kinks to work out,” he admitted, “but...if you don’t like it…”

Aziraphale smirked. “Crowley...I must admit...I do admire your creativity. Your tenacity, however…”

He paused as they held each other’s gaze.

Crowley’s hand slowly reached out and touched the golden locks along the angel’s temple.

Aziraphale sighed as fingertips fluttered over his scalp and his heart beat faster as Crowley moved closer.

“What are you doing?” he whispered.

Crowley’s eyes grew wide and he drew his hand away. “You, um...you had a curl sort of...out of place…”

“Oh…” Aziraphale muttered, looking down at his hand. “Is it...I mean, are you sure it’s _in_ place...now?”

“I mean...could use...maybe…”

He cautiously raised his hand again and Aziraphale turned away. 

“Yes, I’m sure it’s fine,” he breathed out, trying to calm the beating in his chest.

He reached into his waistcoat and took out his pocket watch. He opened it and gave Crowley a coy grin.

“Almost midnight…” he muttered.

As much as they enjoyed New Year’s Eve together, the prospect of midnight had become a tense one in recent years. 

It was always a toast, then the toast would be followed by a handshake. Recently, however, the toast would be followed by awkward moments such as the one they were in now.

Each year, they sat closer, sharing their drinks as they talked and complained about the head offices.

Each year, they touched more, gripping an arm as they told a story or cracked a joke, nudging playfully at one another as they teased.

This year, they were close enough to close the gap between them, to finally ease that tension.

Aziraphale clutched the watch in his hand as Crowley gazed into his eyes.

“Angel…” he whispered, leaning closer.

Aziraphale’s lips parted, finally ready to accept Crowley’s invitation, but he gently placed a hand on his chest.

“Wait…”

He realized the shirt was still unbuttoned and his fingers tread across the sparse hair and the links of his silver chain.

A warm feeling surged into Crowley and he sighed.

“Too fast?” he asked.

“Hm? Oh...no, I just…we’re drunk.”

“Let’s sober up, then.” He glanced at the pocket watch. “One minute to midnight.”

“Crowley...I don’t know…”

“Sober up,” he repeated, “and if you don’t...” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

Aziraphale nodded. “Okay.”

The distilled spirits left their bodies in a slow burn and Aziraphale’s fingernails lightly scratched along Crowley’s chest.

He opened his eyes and looked into pools of gold, the slit pupils eyeing their target.

“How long now?” he asked.

Crowley looked at the watch again. “20 seconds.”

The angel leaned in further, bypassing the demon’s lips to press his cheek to his. 

“Dearest…” he whispered, his eyes welling with tears.

Crowley sniffed. “Yeah?”

“I’m...is this right?”

The crowd in the street began counting.

_10...9...8..._

“What, angel?” Crowley asked as he gripped the hand stroking his chest.

“How I feel?”

_7...6..._

“And how do you feel, angel?”

“Crowley...I…”

A tear fell down his flushed cheek.

_5...4…_

“I’m here, Aziraphale.”

“I’m afraid.”

_3…_

“I’ve got you, angel.”

_2..._

Crowley moved away from his cheek and hovered his lips over Aziraphale’s. 

**_1!_ **

Aziraphale pressed against them, accepting the invitation he had refused many years, many centuries before.

The crowd in the streets were singing Auld Lang Syne, but they didn’t notice the pure light that glowed from the bedroom window above them.

The glow faded just as soon as the sound of thunder and explosions came.

Crowley pulled away, gasping. “Angel!”

Aziraphale held his cheeks. “It’s alright, darling. Look!”

They turned to the window behind the bed where there was a bursting of color as fireworks filled the night sky.

Crowley sighed in relief. “I knew that.”

Aziraphale giggled and pulled the demon’s lips back to his.

He nipped at his bottom lip, making him grin. Crowley returned the gesture with a gentle suck and slowly laid him on his back.

Crowley straddled his hips and loosened his bow tie. He unbuttoned his powder blue shirt and leaned into his neck.

Azirpahale giggled and clutched Crowley’s arms.

“Okay?” he asked.

Aziraphale nodded and closed his eyes as he brought him to his neck again.

He laughed louder.

Crowley raised up and smiled. “Angel, what’s happening to you?”

Aziraphale bit his lip. “I’m sorry, but your mustache tickles.”

“You don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say _that._ But...I mean...now that you brought it up--”

“You _don’t_ like it.”

“Not really.”

“ _Really?_ ”

“Yes, it’s atrocious. And a bit obscene.”

Crowley smirked at him as he sat back on his knees.

Aziraphale frowned. “Oh, no. I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to be so forward.”

He felt Crowley’s lips on his again, and he was quiet.

His lips moved to his cheek and then his jawline, but stopped at his shoulder when he heard his voice.

“We have to be careful.”

Crowley raised his head and softly kissed his bottom lip. 

“I know.”

\-------------------------------

**Years later, Christmas Eve, at a cottage in South Downs**

“To think that people actually bought into this fad of yours,” Aziraphale said as he balanced their photo album in his lap.

There was a series of Polaroids of a mustachioed Crowley, his shirt half-way undone, doing all sorts of outlandish poses on his round bed. Each photo was of a different angle as the bed slowly rotated.

“It was all in the motor, darling,” he replied as he typed on his mobile. “And I told you: humans buy ridiculous shit all the time.”

“Oh, I don’t think I would call that one ridiculous, dear. One good thing did come out of your little project.” He smiled at his husband. “I used to see your work when I had hospital duty. Not just motorized beds, but chairs, too. Interesting how that worked out, hm?”

Crowley put down the mobile and put his arm around his husband. “I don’t know what you mean, angel.”

Aziraphale noticed the small grin on his face, but didn’t mention it.

“Who were you texting?”

“Warlock,” Crowley said, still smiling. “They said Merry Christmas and asked if they could borrow my copy of _The Shining._ ”

“That one might be too scary, dear.”

“They’re seventeen, angel. If Warlock could handle reading _IT_ , they can get through _The Shining_.”

Aziraphale turned the page in their album. “Oh, good Lord!” he exclaimed as Crowley laughed.

“Bloody heavens! I forgot about my Pet Rock idea.”

“Speaking of ridiculous shit…”

“Hey, it started as a joke I told to a guy in a bar and he made a lot of money, didn’t he? That’s not _good_ enough for you? In fact, I gave you one; what happened to it?”

“Sorry, love. I had to put it down.”

Crowley laughed again and then leaned into his ear.

“You’re such a bastard,” he purred.

“Stop that,” the angel giggled. “There’s no mistletoe in here.”

“We’re married. I don’t need a bloody plant to tell me when to kiss you.” 

“Was that in our vows, then?”

Crowley removed the photo album from his lap and took its place.

Aziraphale beamed at how glorious he looked in the firelight. There was a soft blush on his cheeks, put there by the bottle of brandy they were sharing, and the blinking of the white lights on the tree shown in his long red ponytail that rested on his shoulder.

He rested his hands on Crowley’s thighs. “Would you like your present now or in the morning?”

“A present?” He leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “For little old me?”

Aziraphale laughed again. “Of course.”

“You mean I’ve been a good boy this year?”

“You’ve been...tolerable.”

“Hmm. Can’t be _too_ good, now can I?”

He slowly moved his hips forward against his angel’s lap, making him bite his lip.

“Careful, my love,” Aziraphale teased. “Christmas isn’t over yet. There’s still room on the Naughty List.”

“I _am_ the Naughty List.”

Aziraphale huffed. “You’re drunk.”

“And you’re gorgeous. Now, where’s my present?”

Aziraphale leaned forward, wrapping an arm around Crowley to keep him on his lap. He opened the drawer of his end table and produced a small, rectangular box wrapped in red paper.

Aziraphale leaned back into the sofa again and handed it to him. “I hope you like it.”

“Hmm, I don’t know. It’s a bit tiny,” Crowley said, smiling as he ripped into the paper.

He opened the box and pulled out a pair of black wings, each wing on a hook.

“Oh, wow...these are cool.”

Aziraphale smiled. “I know you don’t usually wear earrings that size but...well, I couldn’t resist.”

Crowley took off the red garnet studs he normally wore and put on his present.

“They look wonderful on you, darling,” Aziraphale told him as he stroked his cheek.

Crowley gave him a loving kiss. “They’re perfect.”

Aziraphale gently cupped his face. “You really like them?”

“I do. Thank you, my angel.”

Crowley kissed him again before sliding off his lap. He reached under the sofa and handed a slim wrapped package to him. “Merry Christmas, love.”

Aziraphale smiled. “What is it?”

“Open it!”

He tore open the paper and gasped. “Oh my goodness! Is this like yours?” 

“Actually, it’s better,” he replied as he sat next to him. “I got you the newest one.”

“I can’t believe it! My own electronic tablet device!”

Crowley snorted. “You can just say tablet, angel.”

“Oh, darling, you shouldn’t have.”

“I know. I almost got it for myself!”

“Will you help me set it up?” 

Aziraphale was starting to open the tablet’s box, but Crowley stopped him.

“Not just yet,” he said.

He slowly looked up at the ceiling and Aziraphale followed his gaze and smiled.

“Well,” the angel said, setting down his present. “Would you look at that.”

Crowley nodded. “Yep. Mistletoe. I wonder how it got up there.”

“How, indeed.”

“Hmm, yes.”

Aziraphale guided him onto his lap again.

If their neighbors lived just a bit closer, they would have seen the glow of pure light shining through the cottage window.

**Author's Note:**

> Some trivia:
> 
> The program that Crowley is watching is the final episode of Monty Python's Flying Circus. It premiered on BBC2 on 5 December 1974 and it was called "Party Political Broadcast." The sketch being quoted is about Kamikaze Highlanders.
> 
> If you didn't know, Carrie was the first published novel by Stephen King in 1974. Crowley ended up being quite a fan of his but he doesn't tell that to a lot of people because he doesn't read. Does he look like he opens a book? Read? Him? Noooooo...
> 
> Terry's All Gold is very old school and is filled with deliciousness. Except those Turkish Delight pieces. They're nasty. Turkish Delight is horrible.
> 
> The first personal floppy disks officially debuted in 1971, hence Crowley inviting Aziraphale to see it before he just threw it across the universe to some nerds in New York.
> 
> I was not able to find out exactly when rotating beds were invented, but they were popular in the 1970s and the concept has been used for hospital beds, chairs, and bed-chairs for the elderly and for the disabled community.
> 
> Streaking became a thing. Yeah...
> 
> And pet rocks. Seriously, the guy made millions in just six months with a rock and box. Only Crowley could pitch that to someone and make it work.
> 
> Finally: Crowley's mustache is horrible. He knows this and that's why he kept that fuzzy caterpillar lip until 1980 when Tom Selleck proved on Magnum PI that he was the only valid person to ever have a mustache LIKE THAT.
> 
> Oh, and I will be writing a fic about Crowley's pierced ears. It's time...


End file.
